Fragments
by tyrantsandcreampuffs
Summary: of the disintegration of a marriage. / Oneshot. Part 3 of The Spectrum Series. #21


**Fragments  
**by _tyrantsandcreampuffs_

* * *

Notes: Well, I am depressing myself again and so I wrote this. It's more serious and is written in the same broken style as the other two pieces of The Spectrum Series which is my collection of rather sad stories. This is a story told in ten parts which are non-linear so it jumps back and forth and may be confusing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And if it isn't too much of a bother, please leave a review to let me know what you thought of this oneshot. :)

Edit: I think I should point out that the last part can be interpreted in two ways-as the beginning or as the ending. Personally I choose to see it as the beginning, making this story sadder. Haha!

* * *

Fragment

(noun) a small part broken or separated off something

(verb) break or cause to break into fragments

* * *

**01.**

She had been assaulted with quite a few things in her life, but _this_, she thinks, this could be the one to finally do her in.

And this was from the girl who had literally dodged rocket-propelled grenades as part of the Desert Dawn, a resistance group that actively fought in the first war. Who, in both wars, had fought in her own mobile suit and evaded attacks from high-energy beam rifles and combat knives, blows which could have been fatal in the big bulk of metal. Who, as one of the most powerful women in the world, was the target of assassination plots; who had bullets aimed right at her chest at every other conference she attended. This was from the girl who tempted fate, who has always emerged alive so far despite the odds.

But _this_—this completely blindsided her. This was a knife in her back, a deft strike to her heart. The perpetrator was someone who knew her well, better than anyone, and knew that such an act would have gutted her.

This was from someone who was literally in the position to kill her so many years ago.

"Why is _this_ here?" she said, her fingers shaking but still holding on to the folder in her hands. If she had let it go, it would still be there in front of her anyway. There was no way she could deny the dreaded parchment away. "You know very well that any personal concerns should be forwarded to my estate and it would be up to my staff there to inform me of any urgent obligations outside of my work. I have not been notified of such an obligation, so please enlighten me as to _why this is here_."

"Forgive us, Lady Athha," one of her many assistants said, unflinching. All of them were tough, personally screened by Kisaka as she would not have anyone sniveling in her presence, especially in her office where work had to be done. "But your solicitor gave strict orders that it be delivered directly to you."

"I see." Her solicitor was barely a presence in her life because she almost always had her affairs in order. Almost. When the old man _did _have to contact her, it was always because it was a matter of urgency. "Thank you."

With that acknowledgement, the assistant left the room to grant the lady her privacy. On any other day, she would have ignored such a personal beckon and would have set the parcel aside for her to continue looking over drafts upon drafts. But this wasn't just any other day—no, this was the day of her doom, her undoing, and really, she had only herself to blame.

She took a deep breath before placing the folder on her desk. Her hand ran through the smooth top cover once, stopping over the dry seal of her solicitor's office. She had often questioned her need for a lawyer as she herself was the embodiment of her country's law and ideals, but she did acknowledge that she had to have someone to keep her affairs in order, especially when those affairs dealt with laws she could not make herself an exception to.

Her fingers moved and brought the flap up, revealing the small stack of papers beneath. She was no stranger to text, but the words seemed so foreign that she couldn't grasp anything. But there were three words which stood out, which she could understand.

_Petition for Divorce_.

Those words nauseated her. Immediately her hand shot out for the second drawer of her desk, where she kept personal memorabilia which didn't need to be scrutinized by everyone who passed by her office. Inside were pictures, her father's ledgers, and random trinkets with sentimental value. There was also a small box which housed a small band. She always knew where it was; she kept it at the bottom left of the drawer, always in her reach. As soon as her hand made contact with the velvet wrap of the box, she seized its contents. Her wedding ring was one of her most prized possessions. Though its monetary value didn't add up as much as the other assets in the room, its sentimentality could not be traded for anything else in the world. Her eyes landed on the paper once more and saw the three words with clarity. She realized then that her ring wouldn't mean anything soon.

She had wondered exactly when—not _if_—it would come to this. Admittedly, she wasn't the most responsible person when it came to her sham of a marriage. She neglected her husband, she knew, but she didn't lose any sleep over it. He, too, knew full well what he was getting himself into when he decided to marry her. He knew that he would always only be second to the country who needed her attention every hour of every day. There was always a national matter which needed to be discussed; treaties which needed to be negotiated, proposals which needed to be reviewed. There was never a lack of crises, even a decade after the war. He knew that. They both did.

But that didn't make _this_ hurt any less.

* * *

**02.**

"This is what they call a conflict of interest," Kira explained over coffee. His was always bitter, taken as is, except on the occasions when Lacus would wake up earlier than him and prepare his dark drink with sugar. "As your best friend, I want to support _you_; but as Cagalli's brother, I want to support _her_. I can't just pick sides here, Athrun."

"You're acting on the presumption that there _are_ sides," he pointed out. Kira assumed that it was like the war all over again, where it was just naturals versus coordinators; where it had to be _this_ or _that_, no allowance of any shade of gray in the clear-cut hatred for genetics. But in this case, Athrun wholly believed that there wasn't anything to divide the interests of the two parties involved: him and his wife. "We both want this."

"By saying that, do you mean that you've both talked it out and decided that a divorce is your best chance? Or did you come to the conclusion yourself?" Kira asked, sipping calmly from his mug. There were drawings on the ceramic surface, doodled by the children at the orphanage he and Lacus handled. "Did you exhaust all options before choosing to end your marriage? Did you even try to go to a counsellor and attend a session? Did you tell her about how you felt your marriage wasn't working out anymore?"

He expected an inquisition of this kind from his best friend. He knew it was like Kira to ask, to question—it was all he did after the first war, after all. And he had prepared for this interrogation, he did; had the answers to all of them practiced and ready to be recited—but he couldn't find the willpower to speak them out loud.

_No. No. Yes. Yes. Yes._

He had always been accused of being a coward for switching sides when it appeared convenient. He was used to the scrutiny, to being seen as a villain that should be indicted for all the war crimes he had committed. But what others didn't know was that he had done everything in his honest pursuit of justice, of what was right. And by that same passion, he had said in his wedding vows that he would always do right by her—and now this act was the only path he saw to do _that _right, to get out of the impasse that was their marriage. He was doing as he always had, except that she was a different kind of war.

"She was actually the one who suggested it," he said, drudging the memory of their latest fight in his mind. "The divorce, I mean."

"I don't believe Cagalli would do that. She loves you very much, Athrun."

"I know. I love her, too, more than anything, but love doesn't mean needing. Cagalli doesn't need me. She doesn't need _anyone_. Do you know what that means for our marriage?"

"I understand that she can be very independent, but trust me, Athrun, Cagalli needs you."

He wished it were true, that there was the minutest proof that she needed him as he needed her. She was his lifeline, his only reason for staying. She was the one who convinced him to stop running away, to _live_, and he has needed her ever since. And for a while they had lived contently in the company of their mutual dependence on one another. It was in her nature to tend to the bruised, the broken—she loved being useful despite the toll it took on her. But it seemed that after she had healed him, after she had exorcised the demons which haunted his being, she felt as though she was no longer needed, and so moved on to the country who called for her every minute.

"No, she doesn't."

* * *

**03.**

It was a small and intimate ceremony on one of the private islands owned by the Athha estate. She had told him of how she wanted it to be the complete opposite of the arrangement she had with her former fiancé (may he rest in peace—or burn in hell, neither of them cared) and so they had agreed to forego all extravagances and just let the wind take them wherever it wanted. He was fine with it, too, because the grandeur just wasn't _them_. They were in love—that was all that mattered.

She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but it was the one day she actually strove to look beautiful for her husband-to-be's sake. It was the one time she felt even mildly comfortable in a dress. Her getup was nowhere near as intricate as her first gown, which she was thankful for. It was just a plain, no frills dress that was the color of sea foam, the color that symbolized posterity in her little island nation. She thought it was only apt that she wore something for the future she had dreamt with him. Lacus had weaved hibiscus in her hair; Manna gave her a necklace of red stones, something which was sacred to Haumea. When she took a final look at herself before the ceremony begun, she cried—but this time, they were actual tears of joy.

He, on the other hand, wore a white suit coat as was custom in space. It was mildly adjusted, though, to compensate for the summer heat. Kira helped him with his cufflinks, simultaneously giving a final pep talk with an added warning about hurting Kira's one and only sister. Despite being irresolute during the wars, he was more than certain with _her_ now, and he would never do anything to hurt the woman he loved the most. Kira accepted his feelings and gave him a brotherly hug before leaving him to his thoughts. He brought a hand to his chest where the pendant she had given him all those years ago lay. He was ecstatic and nervous all the same. When the ceremony begun, he watched her walk down the aisle—and he was crying along with her.

Reverend Malchio officiated their union. Lacus and Kira were their maid of honor and best man, respectively. Those who were part of Terminal (and a select few outsiders) stood as witnesses. Overall, less than fifty people were present. Miriallia took pictures. Dearka ruined half of the cake. Yzak got drunk and declared his love for his subordinate Shiho. Shinn danced with every girl present. Mu and Murrue lit up the fireworks. It was perfect.

He didn't hesitate as he signed the agreement that would keep their marriage a secret from the rest of the world. They were in love. That was all that mattered.

That was all that mattered.

* * *

**04.**

The couple were presently at their shared private residence. It was an hour's drive away from the city and sat on the precipice of a cliff which overlooked the sea. Neither of them _lived _there, per se; she often stayed at her own family's estate while he slept at the barracks for the commanding officers. For appearance's sake, they couldn't simply move in together as someone would eventually pick up on their routine. The capital was out of the question as there would be eyes everywhere and neither of them wanted to risk the public finding out about their marriage. It would cause an outrage, a public scandal. So instead they had settled on the small piece of land at the outskirts of the island and built their home together.

At most, they stayed there twice a month—every other weekend. It wasn't much, but it was more than either of them could have asked for. Whenever she returned from a foreign diplomatic mission, she would be given the next few days off by the parliament. She never took their offer of free respite before, not trusting the council of old geezers to be in her stead for even an hour; but her new marriage made her rethink her priorities as she now had a husband whom she wanted to spend time with. Time with her husband was invaluable to her and as they were both very much career-oriented, they didn't have much to spare for one another at all.

She had just returned from another one of her international trips and she was given the weekend to rest. Kisaka picked her up from the private airport and drove her to the secluded dwelling where her husband was waiting for her. It was their modus operandi—she would come back, he would call in his free days, which was no problem at all since she was the commander-in-chief of the navy, and they would be together as husband and wife, not admiral and chief representative.

Now, there they were, enjoying what was left of the little time they had together. While they did see each other regularly, often bumping into each other in the corridors of the parliament building as he ran errands and she did her daily work, they were limited to acting at a certain courteous distance. They longed to be with one another freely, but they knew that it couldn't be—not _yet_, anyway.

But for now, they were content to just be alone together.

Or at least, _she_ was happy. He watched as she attempted to stifle her laughter. Her cheeks bloated, her eyes watered, her nose scrunched, her fists curled—and yet nothing she did could stop her mirth from taking over.

"I can't believe you're actually jealous!" she said after a bout of cackling. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and wiped it on her jeans. He didn't looked amused and kept his face intact in case she had the opinion that her giggles could soften him—they usually did, but not for this case.

"_Cagalli_," he said in a warning tone. "Just, stop; let this go already."

"No, I'm sorry!" She continued with her fit of sniggers and grabbed the day's newspaper off the counter between them. "But to think that you'd believe this mindless media! This story is a hundred levels of bullshit and you know it—you_ should _know it!" She had finally calmed down and approached him; this time, he didn't turn her away. "I mean, the Prime Minister of the Republic of East Asia is quite a looker—" He growled, but she didn't pay heed to that. "—but I married _you _because I love _you_."

"I believe you," he breathed out tersely.

"As you should," she answered back with a smile. "I meant it though. I do love you. That, and the Prime Minister doesn't quite have your physique."

He rolled his eyes at her attempt to get back in a good mood. She was quite a hypocrite, really; he never missed the look of disdain she sent towards his female officers. While it was an offense to be involved with a superior, that never really stopped the girls from flirting with him. He had played it friendly, not indulging them, as he always had, but once she heard a specific name who was being unnecessarily untoward with her husband, she would pay the poor unsuspecting officer a visit and scare them into space.

"Athrun?" she called out, offering him her hand. He took it and wound their fingers together. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he said with a smile against her lips. "But I wonder how my wife would react if she knew that a certain female captain—"

She silenced him with a stomp to his foot.

* * *

**05.**

He had never done this before, but after an hour of thinking in silence, she realized that it was just _him_ to walk away. He wasn't like her in the sense that she tended to finish what she had begun—in this case, an argument. She was burdened with enough, she thought, every day she had to deal with the repercussions of her decisions, the aftermath of war. She didn't need him acting the way he had, saying wounding things to spite her, to add to her already heavy heart.

She sat in their parlor, consuming a bottle of red wine by herself. She needed it, she convinced herself, to tide her over the hurt she was feeling. In the stillness of the house, she heard the distant rustling of the trees, the howling wind, and the waves crashing on the rocks. On a normal day, the noises would have soothed her, but tonight she wished that he was screaming at her instead. That would have meant that he had something to say, that he was actually there with her.

This was not how she imagined spending the night of her third wedding anniversary.

* * *

**06.**

"What is it now—"

He stopped and saw what—or rather, who—had caused him to be interrupted from going through his daily pile of paperwork. He stood up straight and saluted, as he was trained since boyhood to do in the presence of a higher-ranking officer; and there was only one person in Orb who was above him in terms of military ranking.

"At ease, Admiral Zala," the commander-in-chief said, masking her familiar tone. He looked behind her and saw how his secretary, a lieutenant assigned under his command, was mouthing an informal apology. He then promptly put his hand to his side and waited for her to speak, to tell him what her agenda was; they were, after all, in the presence of another person and couldn't act freely. But she didn't say anything. Instead, there was a playful twinkle in her amber eyes and he already _knew_ what trouble she was up to. He sat back down in his chair, exhaling.

She turned around, walking as though she was exiting the room. She grabbed the knob of the door, thanked the lieutenant who escorted her to his office, and closed the door shut. She made certain that she heard the click of the lock before she faced him once more with a coy smile.

"Hello," she greeted, her eyes glazing over with a certain giddiness. She strode her way to his lap and placed her head on his shoulder, burying her face in the crook of his neck which smelled delightfully of cinnamon bark. "This is exciting."

"Sending your escorts on a wild goose hunt for you isn't exactly what I pictured to be your idea of _exciting_—at least not at your age," he remarked with a chuckle, running a hand through her hair. "I remember how you gave them hell at seventeen."

"_You_ were the reason I kept disappearing back then," she answered back. "It's not my fault they never bothered to look in the broom closet."

"Cagalli!" he scolded her sudden indecency. Not that he minded, but he was still embarrassed by the memory of their younger selves grasping at a relationship. "_Really. _What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you."

"You're supposed to be halfway around the world right now."

"And the Prince of Scandinavia will have a panic attack knowing that I, along with a few other foreign delegates, did not make it in time for his coronation." She rolled her eyes, but he couldn't see her expression because she was still tucking herself into his form. "Honestly, Athrun, I'll have my minister for foreign affairs send a note and that'll be the end of it."

"You don't have your priorities in order."

"No, I _do_. I'm not going to spend our first anniversary on a plane to Scandinavia. Haumea knows it's freezing there. I'm going to stay here in Orb where the temperature is reasonable, with my husband because I'm sure he doesn't want his wife to be away either."

He stopped brushing the strands of her golden locks and reached for her chin so that she would look at him. They faced each other with mutual adoration, more than love; the desire to live for each other swam beneath the surface of their eyes. It was everything she had ever dreamt of as a young princess—the prince who would look at her the way he did now, the way he looked at her even then.

"Happy anniversary," she whispered, not breaking her gaze.

"Just the first of many," he replied, wondering if he would ever get tired of falling in love with her.

* * *

**07.**

Her trusted aide of seven years—one of the few civilians invited to their wedding—led him in to her office without any word of protest with regards to his lack of an appointment. He was thankful for that because he didn't want to go through the trouble of having the documents he was going to have signed by her be run through with another person beforehand. There were always measures in place with the clearance of documents that would make their way to her because she hated it when her time was wasted.

He wanted to laugh at the thought of him wasting her time. Had the last five years of their marriage been a waste of hers? He couldn't remember the last time they were truly happy together; perhaps it was months ago, perhaps even longer. The two of them have been undeniably busy lately, her even more so, what with the threat of a third war breaking out looming over their small island nation. They mutually agreed to put their relationship on an indefinite break because _she_ couldn't afford to have any form of distraction. He had acquiesced because he understood that it was how she processed such frustrations, but in actuality, he didn't want to forego their marriage. In fact, he believed that she was supposed to need him more with all the stress piling up. They were supposed to be partners who shared everything, both the good and the bad.

She was so engrossed in reading that she hadn't even noticed him come in. He coughed once to get her attention—which he had never had to do before—and she jumped up her seat, startled.

"Athrun!" she exclaimed, composing herself. "Sorry, I was—"

"It's alright," he tried to laugh off, but really he didn't know what to say. There were quite a few things he wanted to tell her, but the most important was that there was a gap in their marriage that needed to be attended to with haste, else it'll worsen. They hadn't talked about anything personal in weeks, and when they did get a chance to speak to each other, it was always something about the war, about something official. He knew she was losing hours of sleep and that she barely ate, but he wasn't in any position to tell her those. When he tried to call her, she would be off in a conference. When he tried to message her, she would just reply with an apology. He sometimes went home to their little house by the edge, but he never bothered to hold his breath with regards to her actually being there. He missed his wife more than ever, but he couldn't even tell her that. "I just need you to sign these for approval."

"What are they?" He saw how she relaxed in his presence as her eyes drooped ever slightly, indicating her need for sleep. That was good; he needed her to be as unaware as possible.

"Just some documents for the retirement and honorable discharge of some officers." There were a total of seven pending cases—his own included. "I thoroughly checked each and made sure that all those who applied had valid reasons for leaving. One can't be too sure with the possible war, after all."

She nodded to every word. "And what are the reasons of those you have shortlisted?"

"All the officers here were in active duty during the last war ten years ago. Most of them have supporting medical documents for post-traumatic stress disorder." He tried to be careful with his phrasing, else she would become more suspicious to the cases. He had to make it appear like nothing was out of the ordinary. "I also checked the compensation packages and nothing they're demanding is out of line."

"That's good," she breathed out, exhausted. "Well, I trust that you overlooked these as meticulously as you do. Hand them over."

He did as she had said and placed the binder in her hands. He stood in front of her desk, not daring to inch closer, and watched as she uncapped her fountain pen and began to place her signature on the bottom right of each document. He was tense, terrified that she would find out that he had filed to be discharged—surely that would lead to a great argument about how he was abandoning his line of duty like he had in the previous wars. If a war did ever break out, he knew which side he would be on. He'd fight for Orb, for their home, for _her_—there was no doubt about that. But there remained the fact that he had to realign his priorities.

She finished signing the last sheet and handed them back to him. If it had been anyone else who had given her the documents, she would have scanned through every name and would have caught his, but it was he who had done the task and she trusted _him_. It made it worse for his psyche to be aware of how he was betraying her, going behind her back. He had to remind himself that he was doing it _for her_, to save what was left of their marriage. They couldn't stop living just because of a war. She was the one who taught him so in the first place.

"Thank you for seeing me, Athrun," she said in a low murmur. "I know this is an official matter, but still, seeing you again is such a relief."

It unsettled him how he wasn't comfortable with what he was hearing. This wasn't how a married couple were supposed to confront each other. There were no words of adoration exchanged, and she didn't even hint about the shambled state of their marriage. He knew she knew that their arrangement was compromised, but she wasn't acting on that knowledge—she wasn't going to until she had accomplished her duty as the chief representative to lead her country out of the murky waters of war.

"It's no problem, Cagalli," He still didn't make a move to come closer to her, to take her up in his arms like he truly wanted to. His eyes landed on her right hand where her ring finger was bare, as it always was. He couldn't take the sight of it—not right now. "Excuse me."

She didn't call for him. She didn't stand up and ask him to stay. She didn't do anything at all.

* * *

**08.**

When Lacus was five months along her pregnancy, the Supreme Council finally decided to give her the leave she deserved. The pink-haired songstress decided to head to Orb to spend her free days with her loving husband accompanying her as her official escort. The couple resided in one of the wings of the large Athha estate as the head of the state needed to secure the wellbeing of the chairwoman of one of the most powerful governments—that, and she would not have her very pregnant sister-in-law staying elsewhere.

The two of them were having tea in one of the gardens, robot drones singing and shouting loudly in the background, when Lacus opened up a dreaded discussion far from political affairs.

"You should consider it," Lacus began with an encouraging smile. "Going public with your marriage will open an opportunity for the both of you to be happy."

"But think of the scandal it would cause," she argued. She didn't deny that they would be infinitely happier if they were free to be together as they pleased, but it would be such a hassle. "I don't need to deal with the parliament's outrage or the judgement of the masses. My ratings will go down just because of a personal affair—every politician's nightmare."

"But think of what it would mean for your marriage," Lacus countered intuitively. "It's been a bit over two years now, and I know for a fact that Athrun's not that pleased with the secrecy, though he deals with it for your sake."

"He had agreed to it for a reason."

"Reasons _change_." Lacus cut a biscuit in half and set it aside for her to consume later. "Athrun is the kind of person who constantly changes, who tends to deviate from his initial path once he sees a better option, and if he starts to see that your marriage is on the road to ruin because of this privacy, he'd do something about it. But I don't have to tell his wife that, hm?"

* * *

**09.**

"I've been thinking about it, what you said," she started, uncertain. "About how we—_this_—our marriage, our arrangement isn't working anymore and that we had to _do something_."

"What about it?"

"Well, are you sure you _want_ to do it?"

"It's what we _need_, Cagalli."

"That's nice to know." She cleared her throat, her nerves tangling themselves in her stomach. She had meant to start weeping, but she couldn't be as reckless with her emotions with him. Not now. "I'll talk it over with my solicitor, then."

He looked confused when he shouldn't have. She wondered why his face was contorted into an expression of alarm when he should have expected her words. He was the one, after all, who had suggested that they do something about their sham of a marriage, wasn't he?

"Why would you need to?"

"Because he'd be the one to file the legal proceedings for a divorce."

"A divorce?" It came out as a harsh whisper. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white, the palm of his hand bruised. "You want a _divorce_?"

"You said that it was what we needed—"

"You obviously don't know _what _we need! Do you even care at all, Cagalli?"

She huffed, indignant. "Of course I do!"

"If you cared about saving our marriage, then you wouldn't even bring up a _fucking_ _divorce_. But it is just _you _to jump the gun, isn't it?"

Whatever retort she had died in her throat. There was nothing she could say at the moment that could undo the damage brought by her words. She had sincerely thought that it was what Athrun meant to suggest then, but now she felt the fool for not even considering any other alternative.

"I was willing to try, Cagalli—in fact, I _have _been trying for the past few months!" There was a resounding ache in his voice, hurt that she wished she could wish away, but it was she who was inflicting his pain in the first place. "But if that's what you want, then fine, so be it. You don't want to even try to make our marriage work, so let's just stop right now."

He turned and walked out of the house, away from her—like he had ever since that first night. The threat of a third war might have been placated, but now she was in the wake of the destruction of their marriage by her own hands, her own words, her own war. She loved him; that fact was never going to change, but over the years their marriage had dwindled into a low, pathetic flame that was screaming, begging to be put out of its misery. She hadn't even considered of rekindling their passion because of all of the duties she couldn't give up, couldn't set aside for him. He had dropped all of his obligations for her, for the sake of their marriage, but she _couldn't_ do the same. She loved him, she really did, but there was only so much she could do.

"Athrun," she called out, her voice cracking, but he was already driving away.

* * *

**10.**

He came back to her after a year. At first, she didn't want to have to do anything with him, unsure what to do. They hadn't parted on the best terms, after all, and it had been so, so long since they faced one another. She rejected every attempt he made at contact, making sure to remind her aide that each appointment he scheduled would be in conflict with another one of her obligations. She was purposely avoiding him, they both knew, but she really did not know what would happen if they saw each other again.

One day, though, he was sitting in her office chair when she arrived for work. Kisaka had apparently let him in, that big bully.

"Athrun," she acknowledged tersely. "What are you doing here?"

She watched with mild interest as he smiled at her and tossed her a small object. On instinct, she caught the velvet box which held one of her most cherished possessions, the ring he had given her. Not that it should matter to her, she told herself, because _their_ time should have passed. _They_ were over. Any attempt at another relationship between them could only end terribly.

"Why is this with you?"

Kira had acted as the keeper of her ring—she couldn't hold on to it as it reminded her of a great loss and of what she had to give up for the sake of her country, but she couldn't exactly just throw it away. She wasn't sure if Kira had knowingly given it to him or if her brother had been duped. Either way, the ring shouldn't be with anyone else with Kira.

"I love you, Cagalli," he instead answered and she could only stand still in place as he got up and walked up to her side. He took the box from her hands and parted the cover, revealing the ring with a polished red stone sitting on intricate curves. He took it with gentle hands and put it over her finger. She wasn't reacting in a violent manner as he had expected her to, and he was grateful. "And I know that you love me too."

"Athrun—"

"No, listen. I know that we went through a lot, that perhaps we weren't truly mature enough back then, even though we knew how it felt to have the world on our shoulders. I had thought that my decision to leave was what was best after everything because I believed that you didn't need me. But the fact remained that _I need you_, Cagalli." He took a deep breath to calm the erratic beating of his heart. "I _love_ you. And if you would have me back—will you marry me?"


End file.
